


Over The Rainbow

by 13Teen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, BAMF Charlie Bradbury, BAMF Original Female Character, BAMF Rowena MacLeod, Bad Parent John Winchester, Bisexual main character, Blood and Gore, Castiel Needs a Hug (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Dean Winchester's Toxic Masculinity, Depression, Descent into Madness, Empaths, F/F, F/M, Female Friendship, Horror, Hufflepuff main character, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Insanity, John Winchester Being an Asshole, M/M, Main Character is an Empath, Main Character starts as a little naive, Main Character will not put up with it, Mentions of Mental Illness, Mentions of Myth & Folklore, Minor Character Death, More tags later, Original Witch Lore, Platonic Female/Female Relationships, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Gabriel (Supernatural), Protective Main Character, Protective Sam Winchester, Psychological Torture, Romantic Soulmates, Sam Winchester Needs a Hug, Sibling Bonding, Smut and Fluff, Suicidal Thoughts, Sweet Gabriel (Supernatural), Temporary Character Death, There's lots of plot, Torture, Will probably be graphic, Witch Hunting, Witchcraft, Witches, mentions of abuse, no toxic relationships, slowburn, there will be smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:55:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28708536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/13Teen/pseuds/13Teen
Summary: Wendy Dawson was weird, some people even called her crazy. She knew things, things she couldn't possibly know unless she was peeping through bushes. She spoke more but said less in that eerie way of hers that half the people in town thought she was on some kind of drug. Wendy Dawson was weird. There was no doubt about it.Gabriel/OCThis story is also up on FanFiction.Net and Wattpad.Rated: M18+-WARNINGS-~ This story will touch on the subjects of physical, mental and sexual abuse (I will put a disclaimer on any chapter that has this present). Eg. •WARNING•~ This story will be graphic with gore.~ Coarse language.~ Sexual situations.~ Suicidal thoughts.~ Torture.~ Abuse.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester/Original Female Character (Platonic), Gabriel (Supernatural)/Original Female Character, Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Sam Winchester/Original Female Character (Platonic)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter begins four weeks after Cas brings Dean back from Hell. I've twisted the time line a little to better suit the introduction of Wendy. The second chapter (if I post it) starts five weeks after Dean comes back, some of the dialogue from season four, episode two will be present in that chapter.

**Chapter One**

_"The best index to a person's character is how he treats people who can't do him any good, and how he treats people who can't fight back."_  
_\- Abigail Van Buren_

* * *

**Chapter Quote: "You're so sad, feels like sittin' in-ah too hot bath, burnin' y' insides – sometimes it gets too hard t' breathe."**

* * *

Have you ever just blinked, looked around yourself and realised you were only existing? That you did the same old routine every single day without fail? Sometimes Wendy wondered what the point was; why even bother getting out of bed and forcing a smile on her face? All the voices that screamed inside her mind, all the emotions that barreled into her on a daily basis – sometimes she even considered jumping off a too tall building and ending it all; ending the invasions that happened upon her day and night; threatening to destroy her, all for just a moment of silence. Though Wendy didn't feel like this every day, today just happened to be one of those days – but those days just seemed to happen more regularly.  
And some days, like today, Wendy felt somewhat numb. Is numb even the right word? Perhaps the word she was looking for was empty? But that didn't make sense either, because Wendy was always filled with emotions whether they were her own or not; a minute didn't go by without Wendy feeling something – anything.  
The young blonde waitress sighed heavily and leaned against the counter resting her chin in her hand, and watched as the patrons inside of Marco's Diner mosey about around her while she tried to reinforce the fragile walls that surrounded her mind. It was slow at the diner this morning with the weather the way it was. In fact St. Francisville, Louisiana, was an easy going town – nothing too exciting ever seemed happened – which Wendy was thankful for. Everybody knew everybody here and Wendy preferred the peaceful sleepy town rather than the fast paced lifestyle of her previous home in Shreveport.  
The blonde stared out of the large windows that lined the diner wall. Wendy thought the sky looked angry, dark clouds hanging above the small town like the heavens were ready to unleash all their pent up anger upon humanity. The thought wasn't comforting in the slightest, but Wendy brushed it aside as she waited for the rain to start. She loved rain – it was cleansing and it washed away the bad things.  
And bad things seemed to be happening more frequently.  
It didn't escape her notice. Even regular people could sense the change, like a bird knowing when to fly south for the winter.  
But she could feel it. Feel it deep down inside herself; feel the emotions of every single being that stood around her crawl across her skin, penetrate her brain, confusing her own feelings with that of someone else's. Thoughts that weren't her own swirled in her mind; it was starting to get difficult to decipher what was her and what was someone else. She knew how to block it; knew how to put the walls up, but it made her eyes droop and shoulders sag – made her mind fuzzy from trying to keep those walls up day in and day out. And when those walls were weak – when they were at the point of crumbling and someone, anyone, had skin to skin contact with her; she would be bombarded with thoughts, emotions, and memories that made her dizzy with nausea.  
Slowly, ever so slowly, it was breaking her mind. It was like looking at a mirror and watching cracks appear and begin to stretch across the once smooth surface.  
Maybe today was the day she snapped. Maybe today was the day she couldn't find herself amongst the thoughts and emotions of everyone else in an eighty mile radius. Perhaps today she would be sent to the hospital again.  
Brentwood Hospital brought distasteful memories to the front of Wendy's mind, making her narrow her silver eyes as she tried to push those thoughts away – imagined stuffing them into a box, then into a cabinet behind a locked door, and throwing the key away into the darkness of her mind.  
She tore her eyes away from watching a crow fly across the car park and frowned down at the counter, noticing a splash of dried coffee and began the scrub it away with the tea towel she kept hanging out of her apron pocket. The diner door opened, the bell above it chiming with the entrance of whoever it was, but Wendy didn't bother looking up from her task.  
"Scrubbin' pretty hard there, Wendy." The gruff voice of Sheriff Grosset sounded from two seats away. Wendy looked up at the Sheriff, a man in his late fifties with grey scruff around his mouth – watching as he took a swig of his coffee; black, no sugar. It made Wendy want to wrinkle her nose.  
"Nuh-uh," She sing-songed kindly and stuck her tongue out at the older man before making her way down to him, placing the now dirtied towel under the counter. "I can get y' some food with that coffee. Coffee after drinkin' will make y' sick."  
Sheriff Grosset liked his beer, liked his rum, and his whiskey on the rocks. He worked late into the night, the hours were long – the drinking was his way of coping since he found his wife in bed with his brother; that was six months ago now. He was lonely and sad, drinking made him forget; drinking made him numb to his emotions. She could feel the burn of rum sliding down her throat even though she had never had the liquid before. Sometimes Sheriff Grosset will replay the scene over and over again in his head, like he's stuck in a loop that he wants to break out of, but at the same time doesn't. Because if he replays it to himself enough times, then maybe he'll figure out the why.  
The Sheriff pulled a face, "It's freaky how y' know that." She supposed he was right, no one did know about the Sheriff's drinking habits, aside from Wendy because of her . . . gifts, but then Grosset smiled kindly. "Guess I can't go t' tha' station on'ah empty stomach."  
Wendy smiled brightly; patting the Sheriff's wrinkled hand and sending a small wave of happiness over the older man – watching as he visibly brightened, the twinkle coming back to those green eyes.  
"Pancakes always make me happy." Wendy suggested softly as she tucked an annoying curl of dark golden hair back behind her ear.  
"Pancakes it is, girly." Sheriff Grosset nodded approvingly and Wendy left him after refilling his coffee to place his order with Marco whom was the chef and owner of the fine establishment. As she walked over towards the pick-up window, Wendy spied Marco dancing around the kitchen as he cracked a couple of eggs into a bowl followed by some sort of herb.  
"The Sheriff would like'ah stack of pancakes." Wendy informed the Latino, watching as he moved around the area happily in love; she knew why he was so happy, and it made her want to dance with him. Through her weakened mental wards she felt the little swirls of warmth do loops inside her stomach, she shifted those walls and embraced the emotion – feeling light, like fairy floss.  
Happiness was a beautiful feeling, it made Wendy think of sunflowers and ice cream; of twirling and laughter. It was one of the emotions Wendy will never tire of feeling.  
Marco looked up and grinned, joy shinning in his dark eyes. "You got it, baby girl."  
Wendy smiled and leaned on the small ledge of the order window before commenting, "Daniel comes home today."  
"Don't I know it, doll-face." Marco chirped. "I got it all planned out. I'm gonna' make dinner, you know, Danny's favourite. Hell, I even got the expensive champagne he's always raving about."  
_Baby boy sure does love his champagne._  
The thought flittered through a crack in the walls.  
"That sounds lovely." Wendy smiled softly, feeling all that love Marco emitted warm her body and tingle across her skin.  
"You bet your fine ass, Wendy – just me, Danny, and a lot of coconut oil." Marco grinned before throwing her a flirty wink.  
"Jesus Christ, Marco." Joyce reprimanded as she picked up two plates from the window, startling Wendy enough to make her jump. "The girl has innocent ears. Don't listen t' him, hun'."  
Marco snorted and rolled his eyes, "Yeah-huh, sure she does."  
Joyce squinted her hazel eyes at the chef before turning to Wendy, her short hazelnut hair just a little darker than her skin tone, followed with the movement. "Hun', can you' grab table five, I need t' give Emily ah call, darlin's not feelin' too good today."  
"Of course," Wendy agreed readily before adding, "she's not sick though. Ah girl named Jessica keeps harassin'er." Wendy informed the older woman. Joyce's expression twisted into a mix of mild anger and panic, before she whipped out her cell phone and dialed her home number – walking to the back room.  
"Baby girl . . ." Marco reprimanded the young blonde; eyebrows lowered over those dark eyes, disapproval twisted around inside of her. "We talked about you doin' that. Most people don't like it."  
"Emmy is sad," Wendy stated it like it was obvious because it was – at least to her anyway. Wendy remembered brushing against her by accident a week ago and having an onslaught of emotion crash over her in waves of sorrow, like she was drowning. A memory of a brunette girl shoving Emily into the bathroom and locking her in for two full classes before a janitor noticed and came to the rescue. "I don't wan' her t' be sad anymore."  
Wendy turned away from her friend's critical gaze, and forcefully shoved Marco's emotions from her body before she slammed her walls back up again. She didn't want nor need Marco's disapproval, granted she could have a little more tact when talking about sensitive subjects, but Wendy always preferred getting straight to the point – hated dancing around a subject when it was just easier to tell it like it is. Besides this would help Emily, letting her mother know would be the first step to solving the problem. The blonde waitress pulled the notepad from her red apron pocket, grabbing a pen from the register as she passed and made her way to table five towards the back of the diner. She drew a tiny smiley face on the note pad to try and cheer herself up before coming to a stop at her destination, gaze flicking up towards the new patron.  
Piercing gold eyes met her own, and for a moment it was just her; no one else's thoughts and emotions banging against the walls trying to break through – just Wendy inside her mind, only her thoughts and emotions keeping her company. The mental shields drifted away without her even realising while she welcomed the sound of silence; relished in it.  
So completely and utterly _quiet_.  
It was gone as fast as it came. Everyone around her projected every little thing they were feeling at her while she fought the urge to either pass out or vomit. Wendy slammed those walls back up, even though they were weak, even though it was tiring – she wouldn't let them crumble again. Wendy took a deep breath, feeling sweat bead across her forehead, before she met the strangers' eyes again.  
He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.  
It wasn't in the conventional sense. He wasn't a male model nor was he extremely tall or overly muscular. He seemed to be short – taller than Wendy by a head or so – nose a little large and thin lips twitched upwards in a little smirk with his golden brown hair swept back from his face; reminding her of caramel.  
But the man _glowed_ , glowed so brightly in colours of gold and white; shining in a pure light of absolute magnificence. It was a vision really, to watch those burnt gold wings ruffle slightly before settling, but then she blinked and they were no longer there – her delicate mind playing tricks on her again.  
"Y' have beautiful eyes," the blonde waitress commented softly before giving the man in front of her a dreamy smile. "Reminds me of my Pop leavin' his glass of whiskey on his desk, ah stray beam of sunlight ligthin' it up—makin' it look like molten gold." The man's eyes lit up in amusement as he raised an eyebrow at her while still being embraced within that golden light. Wendy glanced down at the menu he still held in his hands and tilted her head to the side; trying to feel anything coming from him. Suddenly she tasted sugar, like she had just stuck a tablespoon of it in her mouth. Wendy's lips pulled into a beaming smile, but no less dreamy, "Y' look like'ah man who has ah sweet tooth, an' we have cheesecake. Boysenberry – I like it." She finished her rambling and gazed at the glowing man before her, waiting patiently for an answer with enchanting silver eyes.  
The glowing man's smirk widened a little in an oddly familiar way.  
"Wendy, y' aren't givin' tha' gentleman ah hard time, are ya?" Joyce appeared beside the younger waitress out of nowhere with a coffee pot in her hand and full lips pursed, and she stared the new patron down – as if waiting for him to make a rude remark about the younger server so she could tear him a new one.  
"No." Wendy blinked at the older waitress, trying to look innocent at the semi amused look Joyce was giving her. People tended to be iffy around her, she made them uncomfortable. She supposed that was the 'hard time' Joyce was referring to. "I was just tellin' him how lovely his eyes were, an' that we have tha' cheesecake I like."  
Joyce clucked her tongue before turning her attention back to the customer, "I'm sorry sir, Wendy tends t' get ah bit spacey, but she's ah sweetheart."

"Awh, nothing to apologise for," the man winked at the blonde and handed the menu to Wendy, which she readily took. "Not every day you get a compliment like that. I'll take that cheesecake you mentioned, sugar."

"Well, alrighty then," Joyce turned to Wendy and gave her a look that told her they'd be having words later, before she walked away to serve another customer.

Wendy withheld a sigh. Not looking forward to the discussion with the older woman, considering Joyce had a talent for reprimanding; Wendy was a hundred percent positive that she could even make a frog feel guilty for croaking too loud. The younger waitress left the man at table five without a word, seeing the Sheriff's pancakes waiting for him at the order window, grabbed them and placed them in front of Grosset.

"Pancakes for tha' Sheriff." Wendy beamed at the aged man as he nodded his in thanks. "Y' can find happiness in most places, Sheriff, but one of them isn't at tha' bottom of ah' bottle."

The Sheriff sighed, took a sip of his coffee and grumbled, "I know that, sweetheart."

"Y' should try salsa dancin'." Wendy suggested brightly, leaning on the counter once again as the Sheriff took a large bite of the pancake-y goodness.

"I sometimes wonder what goes on in that pretty head of yours." Grosset gestured at her with his fork then stabbed it back into the breakfast dessert to cut himself another bite.

"Lots'ah things," Wendy admitted softly, but no less happy. "Sometimes I think of those funny cat videos on youtube – I like tha' ones where they fall off things –" She realeased a soft laugh, "or if I can get away with fillin' tha house with those soft plastic balls that kids jump in at play centers – I'd want them in all colours though. I dunno' where I'd get so many, y'know, Grams an' Pop's house is pretty big . . ." Wendy trailed off when she saw the befuddled look on the sheriff's face.

"Right," Grosset gave a kind, but strained, smile.

Wendy cast her eyes down, smiled a little back at the Sheriff and wandered off to the walk in fridge in the kitchen. She rambles, she knows this – but her ramblings made people nervous or uncomfortable. Marco's brother told her it was because she sounded like a stoner; sleepy, even dazed. She found the cheesecake on the second shelf that had been delivered from the little bakery just down the road early this morning, and cut a decent portion for the man who glowed; she briefly wondered if he knew that he glowed. But she decided not to tell him, people didn't like when she would inform them things about themselves.

Wendy placed the slice of deliciousness on a plate and trailed out of the small cold room. The glowing man probably wouldn't like the fact that the town crazy was saying that he was glowing. Perhaps everything she was seeing, everything she felt or heard was all in her head; maybe what her father and Doctor Larsher said all those years ago was correct, maybe everything was a figment of her imagination. Her Grams was adamant that that wasn't so, insisted that Malcolm Dawson and Doctor Larsher didn't know "nothin' about nothin'," and instead she called Wendy an Empath a rare type of Valkaras – a natural born witch that didn't need demon deals to have power. Grams told Wendy that she was born with a great but often terrible gift that should not be used lightly; her grandmother helped her when it all became too much, saved her when no else seemed to care.

It was strange to see him surrounded by gold. Strange, because most people – humans – were encased by a sky blue. A few others were a mixture of that same blue with a striking shade of violet mixed in; a Valkaras, like Grams – like Wendy. There were other's marked with shadowed purples – Borrowers – humans who made . . . agreements for power. But ever since Wendy could remember she could see colours surrounding everyone she knew or passed; could see the colour in the words she could hear. Grams referred to it as Soul Seeing, said that Wendy's mother, Selene, once had the very same gift.

"You're thinking pretty hard there, cupcake. You didn't spit on it, did ya?" The glowing – no – the man questioned with an easy grin.

She hadn't noticed that she had arrived at her destination.

"I'm tryin' t' decide if I'm imaginin' things or not." She answered him softly and honestly, her brow wrinkling as she chewed on her lip while gazing down at the man's cheesecake.

The golden eyed man kicked out the seat opposite him, "Sit." Wendy frowned at him, completely bewildered by the invitation to join him. "C'mon, you're not busy and I could use the company."

So she sat, placing the cheesecake in front of the customer and watched as the man dug into the creamy cake. She was confused, confused because she couldn't get a proper read on him like she could with everyone else. Wendy wondered that if she were to hold his hand would she be able to see and feel everything or would there only be that blissful absolute silence. Either way, she wanted to know, but she fought the impulse. He wouldn't like that. People didn't like that.

"You know, I haven't seen a Valkaras in a long time, let alone an Empath." The man spoke around a mouthful of cake, regarding her almost knowingly. "Like, Empaths? I've met a total of three and you are – so far – the sanest. How old are you now anyway? Eighteen?"

"Twenty-two." Wendy corrected automatically. A Valkaras, so he understood the term and perhaps even knew about the things that go bump in the night, which only made her more curious about who exactly this man was because this man before her was familiar, and it made her want to reach out, grasp his hand and find out who this glow-y man was – because it was frustrating. For once in her life she wanted someone else's thoughts running around in her mind.

"Huh," His voice brought her from her musings. He was studying her with those eyes she already decided she loved. "The names Thomas." His words mixed with the colours of silver and midnight blue, invisible, but she could feel them coil around her fingers.

 _Lies_.

Lies sliding over her hands like she placed them into a bowl of whisked eggs; it made Wendy shudder.

"Liar."

Mr. Glow-y chuckled.

"Clever," He pushed the empty plate away, putting his elbows upon the table before leaning forward, starring at her with intense golden eyes. "The names Loki, cupcake." More silver and blue, but mixed with yellow, not a lot – but enough to tell her that it wasn't a complete lie.

"Liar." Wendy repeated, leaning forward on the table to maintain eye contact with the man. "I don't like bein' lied t'."

The man raised an eyebrow before leaning closer, "It's Loki – technically not a lie." His mouth pulled down as he narrowed his eyes at the blonde, running his tongue along his teeth before he seemed to come to a decision; clucking his tongue before opening his mouth again, his lips quirking up into a small smile. "It's Gabriel – I do prefer Loki though."

His name echoed around in her mind accompanied with a gong, ringing in her ears – jogging a memory that was just within reach but she couldn't quite grasp.

"Ah glowing man named Gabriel." Wendy smiled easily, looking immensely pleased at the fact that he told her a truth that shined with yellow. Her expression became thoughtful as she gazed upon his features, squinting her eyes at Mr. Glow-y while muttering, "Y' name has three syllables . . . Gabriel is such'ah mouthful."

Gabriel's smile turned devilish, and he wiggled his eyebrows at her. "Well, I'm not one for bragging . . ."

Wendy's eyes widened – her face heating and immediately cast her eyes downwards both flustered and embarrassed. "That's not what I meant!" She retorted grumpily. Gabriel chuckled, his eyes lightening up in obvious amusement. It was silent between the two with Gabriel looking at her with golden half lidded eyes and head tilted upwards just so, though the silence was not awkward, only lasting a minute or two before Wendy spoke up again. "I saw wings before but then they disappeared . . . they looked like caramel. Were they real? Can y' fly?" She questioned, intrigued with the answers she might receive. She had never encountered a winged man before.

"Oh, trust me sugar, they're as real as real can be." Gabriel gave a delighted smile as he placed his chin upon his laced fingers and observed the blonde woman with cunning eyes. "And flying just comes naturally."

"I wonder what it would be like . . ." Wendy murmured, her eyes becoming slightly unfocused. " _Somewhere over tha' rainbow_ ," she sung quietly before letting out a laugh, picturing the man before her vaulting over a rainbow with ease, like a high jumper.

Gabriel whistled his expression turning more sympathetic, "Damn, only twenty-two and you're already starting to lose it. Tough break, honeybun."

"Y' deflect with humor." Wendy commented as she pushed a curl back behind her ear, completely brushing aside the remark about her sanity as she fiddled with her fingers. She felt grief wash over her, radiating from the winged being across from her, but it was quickly shut down, and Wendy wondered how he got through her mental shield without her approval; how the connection broke without her ending it. "You're so sad, feels like sittin' in'ah too hot bath, burnin' ya insides – sometimes it gets too hard t' breathe."

Gabriel blinked at the blonde girl on the other side of the table, those big grey eyes shined like silver, seeming to be staring right through him, but then he grinned as his eyes scanned over her full breasts that stretched the fabric of the horrible red and yellow waitress uniform. "You and I can go for a hot bath; you'll hear no complaints from me."

"I don't –" Wendy frowned, a crease appearing between her thick brows as she deciphered the pink words she was hearing. "Are . . . are y' flirtin' with me?"

"I was trying to." Gabriel confirmed before clucking his tongue once more and rolled his eyes. The familiarity of the winged man was becoming unsettling because Wendy couldn't understand why he was so familiar, yet not familiar; she had never met him before, at least she was almost positive that she had never met him before – surely she would remember those piercing eyes. She wanted to pry his mind open and get answers, wanted to know every single thought he had - know every memory so she could find the reason for his familiarity. But she didn't; couldn't. How could she bring herself to invade someone's privacy, to tear through their mind like it was nothing? The guilt would weigh her down for the remainder of her life.

Wendy wrinkled her nose. "You're deflectin' again." She realised, and then looked down at his clean plate. "Would y' like another?"

"Nah," Gabriel sighed as he leaned back in the chair and stretched his arms above his head; releasing a small groan. "I'll be back tomorrow for more cake though, sugarplum." He stood quickly and gracefully, brushing imaginary lint from his shirt, seeming to want something to do with his hands.

"Tomorrow," Wendy started as she watched Gabriel run a hand through his golden-brown locks. "Will y' tell me why y' have wings?"

"Well honey, that depends on what kind of cake you give me." Gabriel wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, his words once again turning pink, while sliding his hands into his pockets.

Wendy pursed her lips, nose wrinkling as she did so. "Tsk, tsk." She wagged her finger at him, looking him over as she contemplated Gabriel's name – he preferred Loki was what he said, but Wendy didn't like it because 'Loki' just didn't seem to fit, and Gabriel was too – well she couldn't quite place it, it just seemed too formal a name for the man that stood before her.

"I'mma' call y' Gigi," Wendy announced, smiling happily and looking quite pleased with herself. Wendy didn't know where the name came from, it appeared suddenly in her mind, flashing above his head in big neon letters, then turned away from Mr. Glow-y and leaving him to wait on the other patrons of the diner; completely oblivious to Gabriel following the curvaceous blonde's figure with his eyes, lips twitching upwards before finally making his way out of the small diner.

~~

Wendy heaved a sigh as she closed the front door to the old farm house behind her, listening to the six bells that were tied onto the door handle jingle as she flipped the light on. She shrugged off her pink jacket and hung it up beside the hall table which was where she placed her keys; the small smiley face key-chain winking in the glow of the foyer light. The house was quiet, and dark, devoid of any life save for the orange tabby cat that trotted over to greet it's master; weaving around Wendy's ankles.

"Hello Nancy," Wendy cooed at the familiar, bent down at the waist and heaved the chubby kitty up into her arms; scratching behind his ears. "Such'ah pretty kitty."

Wendy only received a grouchy 'meow' back as she moved down the hall, passing the living room and staircase before finding herself in the homey kitchen that was cluttered with various herbs and glass jars; some of which were either full or half full of different materials that ranged from dried plants to homemade oils and other unique concoctions. Placing Nancy on the small round dining table, Wendy began to fill the kettle that sat idly on the stove and placed it back once she finished her task, lighting the gas to boil the water. While she patiently waited for the kettle to whistle, Wendy grabbed a tall yellow stripped mug from the cabinet and poured what some people would say was too much honey into it before adding a peppermint teabag.

Wendy released another sigh as she leaned against the counter top and let the walls she held up all day come crashing down. Her mind felt like complete and utter jelly, but dear Lord it was such a sweet relief. No more did she have the thoughts and emotions of others beating against her mind with what she would describe as a sledgehammer. Right now it was just her. Well her and Nancy – but Nancy was a Familiar, more cat than human in every sense, and all he thought about was sleep and food, and had an overall annoyance about everyone and everything; though sometimes he would throw in a surge of affection towards Wendy.

Wendy heard the front door jingle open and sluggish thoughts fluttered into her mind about how Claire Sesston could talk the ear off any patient listener, but made a fantastic cobbler.

"Wendy?" Grams called tiredly from down the hall.

"In tha' kitchen," Wendy replied just as loudly, turning around to fish another mug from the cabinet above her.

Grams' footsteps could be heard coming down the hall before she appeared in the archway and made her way over to Nancy, trying to give the cranky familiar a scratch, but only to have him quickly dart away.

"Ungrateful cat," Grams muttered with pursed lips while she sat at the table. "How was y' day, darlin'?"

The kettle whistled before Wendy could give her reply. She quickly turned off the gas and poured the boiling water into the two awaiting cups, fixing them up to both Wendy's liking and her grandmothers. And then, finally, settling herself at the table; giving Grams a sleepy smile.

Eleanor Barrois was a woman of fifty-five with the same dark golden blonde hair that she shared with her granddaughter except for the fact that it was streaked with grey. Smile lines creased her face around her mouth, and crow's feet crinkled the edge of her eyes, but she was no less beautiful – her face still holding the youthfulness from her earlier years.

"Not s'bad," Wendy answered drowsily, while wrapping her hands around the yellow mug full of tea. "I made'ah new friend."

"Oh?" Grams' eyes twinkled with interest as she took a swig of her own hot beverage. "Well, y' gonna' tell me?"

"Hmm," Wendy hummed while sipping her hot beverage. "He's new t' town." she admitted in that quiet way of hers. She was reluctant to give Gabriel's name, and giving Grams his actual name seemed in violation of his trust that he unknowingly bestowed upon Wendy, so she decided that his new name was the way to go. "Gigi."

The blonde was met with silence, and when she glanced up at her grandmother, a look of bewilderment was upon her features as shock that wasn't her own rocked Wendy's body; her stomach flipping, making her a little queasy. She shot her grandmother a questioning look before the walls around her grandmother's mind went up in a haste.

"What's wrong?" Wendy questioned softly, watching Grams frown down at her tea; her wrinkled hands clutching the mug so tightly that Wendy thought it might break.

"Nothin' darlin'." Grams smiled tightly with words of silver and midnight blue, which was followed by a sigh, "just been'ah real long day."

Wendy withheld the need to call her grandmother out on her obvious lie and Eleanor Barrois knew it too, not meeting her granddaughter's eyes and taking another swig of her tea to keep from further explaining herself. Wendy glanced up at her grandmother, but then quickly darted her eyes away to keep from being caught looking at her and trying to get a read. But Wendy's grandmother was so practiced in blocking Wendy from her emotions and thoughts that it's become an art, which made Wendy envy her grandmothers ability, though remembered that blocking one person was completely different to blocking a few hundred.

"I've made more of tha' tonic, darlin'." Eleanor commented explanatorily, gesturing to the counter top where Wendy found the tiny corked bottles filled with a dark green potion that had been specifically designed to get the blonde to sleep for a max of eight hours each night and was to be taken daily just before she hit the hay. It was the only thing that would allow Wendy to sleep, nothing else would do, and before living with her grandmother she was trapped, trapped in a hospital full of people who didn't understand – couldn't understand – why she wouldn't sleep. Telling everyone and anyone that their voices wouldn't let her didn't help her in the slightest.

But then Eleanor, her grandmother, her savior – had arrived and took her in; gave her back a piece of her sanity with the gift of sleep. Wendy would always be thankful, grateful for her grandmother's kindness.

"Thanks Grams." Wendy smiled, finished her tea and gave her grandmother a swift peck on the cheek before popping up and striding towards the sink to quickly wash her mug.

"Wendy," Grams called for her attention. "There is somethin' I want t' discuss with ya." The young woman dried her hands on the dish towel before turning to face her grandmother, giving her undivided attention.

"Is somethin' wrong?" She questioned softly.

Grams sighed, took a sip of her tea, "There's been four murders in the last four weeks. Police think it's got somethin' t' do with Satanists." Eleanor began with her wrinkled hands clasped together. "But it's'ah Valtushard, I'm positive. Heard it on tha' radio earlier today, tha' details they gave about tha' crime scene sounds like'ah specific ritual an' . . . It's not good."

"Oh," Wendy murmured as she tried to absorb the information. "Where have tha' murders been?"

"Chicago, Wisconsin, Atlanta, an' recently; New Orleans." Eleanor informed her granddaughter heavily. "All exactly tha' same – I want ya t' be cautious, make sure y' don't let y' walls slip."

"Of course." Wendy agreed immediately and crossed the kitchen to sit down beside the older woman again. "We can ward tha' house?" She suggested. "It's'ah little overdue."

"Sounds like'ah plan." Grams smiled with giving Wendy's hand a soft pat before standing up from the table; Grams' worry rolling over the younger woman's body as she left Wendy to her own thoughts.


	2. A Great Big World

**Chapter Two**

_"It's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog."_

_-Mark Twain._

* * *

**Chapter Quote: "I'm thinkin' it's some weird cult shit."**

* * *

They were hunting a witch; they knew that much, but every lead always came to a dead end. In all honesty it was starting to grate on Dean's nerves – he didn't understand why this time it was so difficult to gank the son of a bitch. Five weeks of this bullshit, with five bodies and absolutely nothing. Every time they got close, it was like the bastard knew and would just pack up and leave.

And Dean . . . well, he needed to kill something — something that was real nasty; something that made his skin crawl, something that challenged him – to fill his head with only thoughts of getting the job done, leaving no room for anything else. Because otherwise he'd have to deal with the chaotic thoughts running around in his mind; thoughts that only he had privy to. Like the weirdo trench coat guy that claimed he was 'An Angel of the Lord' and the one to pull him from the fiery depths below; the dude terrified him a little. And the memories of the rack that haunted his every waking moment; repulsive nightmares that were a mixture of truth and imagination disturbed his sleeping mind. It was starting to make Dean twitchy; itching to take down a big baddie so he could feel like he was doing something right, something good. Maybe then he'd be able to look at himself in the mirror longer than five seconds; to look upon his reflection and truly like what he saw – what he's become.

Dean knew that Sam knew that something was up. How could there not be? He came back from the dead – from hell . . . but Dean wasn't ready to talk about it, told Sammy that he didn't remember; he didn't think he'd ever be ready to confess to the unspeakable things he did to those souls while he was down below. He always thought that he'd be able to hold out, that when others would have given in, Dean would be a mountain that refused to be moved. He was so _fucking_ naïve, so completely and undeniably fucking _naïve_. Thirty years of that bullshit torture routine and he caved. It infuriated him; made his head pulse with rage every time he thought about it.

More than anything he was terrified that this wasn't real. That Sammy sleeping in the passenger seat beside him was some new form of torture Alistair had conjured up, that at any second he would be pulled from the happiness and flung straight back to the rack with the sensation of his flesh being peeled slowly away from his body; being forced to watch the skin rip with nothing but the fingertips of whatever fucker that was assigned to him at that time – shredding the flesh away from his person at an agonisingly slow speed, and falling away in bloody ribbons before his eyes.

Dean gave his head a slight shake as if he could physically remove the nausea that swirled in his stomach while trying to rid his mind of the thoughts, push them to the furthest corners of his mind. He knew that they'd come crawling back in about twenty minutes, they always did. But he wanted a clear head, even if it was only for a little while. The eldest Winchester brother pulled into the junk yard, coming to a stop in front of the old and thoroughly lived in home of Bobby Singer. Being here made him calmer, made the tension in his shoulders loosen; felt like he could finally catch his breath after holding it for too long for fear of drowning in the sea of suffocating memories and emotions.

"Up an' at 'em, Sammy!" Dean shouted as he clamped a hand down upon his brothers shoulder and shook roughly, watching his younger sibling jump into a sitting position – looking around wildly for danger; his hair a mess and clothes wrinkled.

"C'mon, man." Sam huffed slightly, pulling his lips down into a frown and giving Dean his best glare. A raspy chuckle escaped his throat while he watched Sam rub the sleep from his eyes, mumbling about something that Dean couldn't quite catch; so he left Sam to his complaining to hop out of the car, and headed towards the porch; hearing the slam of the car door behind him.

Dean didn't knock, he never did; not with Bobby anyway because he knew he was welcome here, hell – the only place he'd always be welcomed without a doubt. And he found Bobby where he always found him; sitting at his desk surrounded by old musty books and a glass of whisky in hand.

"Hey Bobby," Dean greeted half-heartedly, smile not quite reaching his eyes, trying not to let on to how tired he truly was. "We've got something, and we need help."

It was all he had to say to get Bobby's undivided attention. He still wasn't used to that, Dad never did that – Dean didn't think John Winchester knew how to turn his mind away from the job, even in the end it was always about the one job: get the thing that killed mum.

The eldest brother turned away from Bobby who was watching on in concerned interest and headed towards the kitchen, pried open the fridge to grab two beers and passed one to Sam who had finally made an appearance; placing himself at the small kitchen table. Dean cracked the bottle open hearing the fizz as he pocketed the cap before leaning heavily against the counter top to take a deep gulp of the amber liquid that instantly gave his body a soothing chill.

"I still think we should be focusing on this angel guy." Sam directed at Dean before Bobby could question what they needed help with. Sammy just couldn't leave it be, kept at him like he would finally cave under Sam's constant nagging. Dean was already shaking his head – no – before his younger sibling had finished talking, he did not want to focus on the angel guy; didn't want to acknowledge the angel guy, wanted the angel guy to go back to wherever the hell he came from – because angel guy could be a demon guy for all they knew. "Well tell me what else it could've been?

"All I know is that I was groped by an angel." Dean retorted with his jaw clenched as he stepped forward in frustration, but changed his mind and leaned back against the counter again; fidgeting with the bottle in his hands. He didn't want to talk about it unless Sammy was going to start agreeing with him.

"Oh, c'mon Dean, why would this Castiel lie to you?" Sam didn't get it. He wanted this to be a good thing; Dean guessed that Sam needed it to be a good thing. But it never was, it was always something bad or led to something bad. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach, they would end up shit creek without a paddle.

"Maybe he's some kind of demon?" Dean threw out vaguely, grasping at straws. "Demon's lie."

"A demon that's immune to salt rounds, and devil traps, and Ruby's knife!" Sam listed off in protest, watching as his brother picked up a cold slice of pizza that sat untouched on the counter, sniffed the food before throwing it back in the box and pulled a sour face like it had personally offended him. "Dean, Lilith's scared of that thing." He continued to argue fiercely, trying to get Dean to open up to the idea that angels could be the good guys.

"Don'cha' think if angels were real," Dean started, watching as Sam rolled his eyes at the condescending tone; tongue darting out to wet his lips as he became more impatient with Dean – who chose to ignore his brother's antics and pressed on. "Some hunter, somewhere would have seen one. At some point. _Ever_."

Sam grinned sardonically, "Yeah. You just did Dean."

Dean huffed a little, rubbing his palms against his jean covered thighs in frustration before coming off the counter and gesturing to himself, "I'm tryin' to come up with a theory here, okay," Sam gave another eye roll that made Dean want to smack him upside the head if he did it again. "Work with me."

"Dean, we have a theory–"

He cut Sam off before he could start, "Yeah, one with a little less fairy dust on it, please."

"Look, I'm not saying that we know for sure," Sam countered with raised brows, weariness leaking into his voice. "I'm just saying that I think–"

"Okay, okay, okay." Dean interrupted the younger sibling once more. "That's the point, we don't know for sure." He gestured in annoyance, trying to get Sam to at least listen to reason. He didn't understand why Sam was so ready to jump on the angel bandwagon. "I'm not going to believe that this _thing_ is a freakin' angel of the Lord because it says so!"

"Do you two chuckle heads wanna' keep arguing religion or do you wanna' talk about those murders?" Bobby barked impatiently, his voice gruff as always and took a long swig of the whisky unflinchingly – not even a blink. He regarded the brothers through squinted eyes, daring them to continue their argument.

"Uh, yeah." Sam agreed and felt a little scolded by the older hunter; like he was ten years old again. His brow creased as he pushed up from the chair and made his way over to Bobby, Dean following close behind.

Dean knew that Sam wanted him to view the whole angel thing as a jolly good time, but he couldn't. It rubbed at him the wrong way; like Castiel himself was running a cheese grater up and down his arm repeatedly. It was fishy, hella' fishy; quite frankly he just wanted to sweep the whole incident under the rug and forget it ever happened, because if there were angels, there was a god – and that freaked him out more than demons will ever again, because why would God give a rats ass about him? It creeped him out.

But more importantly Dean wanted to know everything about the case they were trying to work; knew Sam was just as frustrated as his older brother. Five people had died because of this witch and they couldn't catch them, every time they got close the bastard was gone without a trace – the only clue was another horribly disfigured body that looked to be mummified; the head cleanly severed from the body with the chest slashed open; skin and flesh neatly pulled away from the sternum, and the mediastinum finely cut to pull apart the ribs, exposing the heart and lungs – only the body was missing those two important organs.

It was gory, that was for sure. Dean had definitely seen worse, way worse; but it was creepy – especially with the overly complicated symbols strategically painted in blood on the ground around the victim. It was some serious crap this particular witch was meddling with.

Sam gave Dean a side glance, which pretty much meant that the conversation about angels wasn't over. It was quiet for a moment between the three before Bobby grumbled something neither of the brothers could catch and continued on louder for them to hear. "You're dealin' with a Valtushard." Bobby informed the two young hunters as if they should've known as soon as they saw the first body.

Dean's brow furrowed, lips stretching and mouthing the word out before trying to pronounce it. "Volta . . . Vulteh– what?"

Bobby would've found the whole thing comical if he didn't think the two were being idiots. "A Valtushard." The aged hunter sounded the word out like he would for a three year old: Val-too-chard. He only received two bewildered looks in return. Bobby grunted before taking another swig of the whisky, noticed that there was only a little left so he downed the rest, and then quickly refilled his glass; placing the bottle back down beside the book he was reading about those winged dorks before being interrupted. "A type of witch. The ritual that's being used is a soul spilt – specifically to separate a witch's power from their soul."

Dean wasn't surprised Bobby knew what they were hunting or what the witch was up to, no – it was something else entirely. "Wait, wait. _Type_ of witch? The hell does that mean?" Dean demanded. There was only one type of witch, the demon dealing kind and that was that; no if's no buts, no coconuts.

"You got three types," Bobby started, going straight into teacher mode as he held up three fingers. "Number one: Borrowers, someone who deals with demons for mojo – common, ones that you're used to dealin' with. Number two: Students, someone who studies witchcraft, but don't got a lot of mojo. Number Three: a Valkaras, a natural born witch." Sam opened his mouth, ready to fire off and ask the necessary questions, but Bobby powered through; he knew Sammy too well. "And a Valtushard is a Valkaras gone nuclear – they steal power by hunting other natural witches; the murders are all part of the ritual."

Dean scoffed, opened his arms in a shrug before clapping his hands together.

"Okay, so then why have we never dealt with a Valkaras?" Sam interjected before Dean could start poking holes in Bobby's lesson.

"Because their typically known as 'Neutrals'. Pretty self-explanatory. And because most hunters," he gestured towards the brothers. "Assume that every witch they come across is bad news, so they stay under the radar."

"So," Dean dragged out the word as he concluded, taking a seat on the couch. "Dead guy number five is a Valkaras? And he got the mojo sucked outta' him?" Bobby grunted his agreement as he gave the eldest brother a withering look over his whisky glass for the attitude. Dean couldn't help it, honestly – he had been hunting for too damn long to not know this already, so it must be bullshit. Dean had never met a witch that didn't want to screw him or his brother over; they were all power hungry nut jobs. On the other hand, it was Bobby, and Bobby didn't make shit up.

"Alright, so how do we find the Velta– you know?" Sam fumbled the word as he took a seat beside his brother, taking in the information while fiddling with the cap from the bottle of beer in his hand that remained full.

"Can't do that without another witch."

"Well that's just _spiffy_ ," Dean grumbled, sarcasm dripping from his tone. His frustration and aggravation came bubbling to the surface, and he fought the urge to get up and start pacing. "I'll just call up Glinda and we'll be right to go."

"If your drop the attitude, I can give you the name and address of a friendly." Bobby scolded sternly, brows lowered over his eyes. He was well beyond annoyed with the older sibling's attitude.

Dean heaved a sigh, "Sorry man, long day." Bobby gave a nod, acknowledging the apology. Of course Bobby had no idea how weighty those words were, but Dean was sure he could take a guess.

"Her name's Eleanor Barrois. An old friend," Bobby informed them as he grabbed a pen and paper to quickly scribble down the address. "You be respectful or she'll light your ass on fire." He received only raised eyebrows.

"Why would she help us?" Sam questioned, stretching his legs out in front of himself while leaning back into the cushion of the couch, and finally taking a small sip of beer. "You said they like to keep on the down-low."

"Because a Valtushard killed her daughter," Bobby informed the duo and stood from his seat to stride over to a pile of messy books in the corner of the room, picking one seemingly from random and paging threw it; looking for whatever it was he was looking for. "Never did catch them though."

"Where can we find her?" Dean sounded off after he skulled the rest of the amber liquid.

"Louisiana."

* * *

"Police are askin' for any information that could lead t' tha' arrest of Satan's Killer; tha' serial killer that 'as been terrorizin' our country for tha' last five weeks, an' has now murdered five people; most recently Victor Forman of Beaumont. This is Steven Connor an' you're listenin' t' 96.4 fm." The radio hosts raspy voice trailed off with the beginnings of a Chris Isaac song filling the space of the small diner.

"Well fuck, another body." Daniel muttered, his words laced with orange as he leaned against the counter beside Wendy as she sat upon the bar stool, and ate the breakfast Marco had ready for her when she walked in for the five o'clock morning shift. Wendy glanced at the tall man with the honey locks and blue eyes.

Wendy had known Daniel Cox since she was eleven years old, he was the very first friend she had made when she had begun living with her grandmother, told her she was weird upon their first meeting during lunch in the school yard after she told him that it wasn't his fault his father hit his mother, and offered one of the banana muffins Grams had packed her – Danny followed the insult up with how more people should be like her. He figured out pretty soon after that just how weird she was, and defended her whenever he thought he needed to.

"That's'ah naughty word, Danny." Wendy scolded half-heartily after swallowing a mouth full of scrambled eggs, watching the man beside her pop his knuckles before flexing them.

"They gave tha' fuckin' guy ah name, Wendy." Daniel ignored the blonde's chiding tone. "Jesus Christ, yeah – 'cause that'll help 'em catch tha' fucker." Daniel sat down forcefully on the bar stool next to Wendy, chewing his thumb nail in thought.

"I guess they do it t' make it less scary." Wendy attempted to sooth the aggravated man with words instead of invading his feelings and manipulating his emotions, she had enough of doing that lately and she didn't want to invade the privacy of one of the very few friends she had.

"What?"

Wendy realised her words must have confused him, seeing as his brow was scrunched while his eyes became squinty. "Well, give somethin' ah name an' it sounds less scary. Gives people ah false sense of security, they think they know what they're up against if they know tha' name of that somethin'."

"Yeah, I guess." Daniel huffed out a long breath, irritation still coursing through his body, but less so now after her words. "Let's hope they catch tha' guy soon."

Wendy hummed in agreement. She was worried, maybe even a little scared. Grams had clashed with a Valtushard along with Wendy's mother, Selene, while she was still a child – it was how Selene died. And it made Wendy anxious – made her want to scratch at her wrists, drag her fingernails along the inside of the pale skin to stop herself from thinking about the gruesome murders and the person who caused the horrifying acts. Focusing on the pain made it easier to breathe, made it easier to not let those thoughts swirl inside her mind and disturb her throughout the day. It didn't help that everyone else was thinking about it too – that they felt frightened and nervous; paranoid even.

Grams had had what Wendy could only describe as a meltdown two days ago and began warding the old farmhouse for the second time along with the property that surrounded it. Wendy had walked into the home after a long shift at the diner late on Friday night, and was greeted by an aggravated Nancy whom darted from under the couch in the sitting room and crouched lowly behind Wendy; hiding.

Wendy had let the walls come down to touch her mind with Nancy's, the familiars memory invading her head like a fog – watching Grams hurry around in the basement surrounded by bookshelves, jars, papers, and ingredients; it was a mess with books scattered across bench tops and tables. Eleanor's hair was a tangle of curls, sticking up in every direction as if she were constantly running her hands through it; Wendy was proven right as she watched her grandmother do just that.

The sleeves of her grandmother's silk blouse had been rolled up to the elbows, wrinkled beyond perfection and blotted with various stains that Eleanor Barrois would have never let happen under normal circumstances. Grams was flicking through the pages of an old tome that looked too fragile to touch before growling out in frustration and flinging the object across the room. The reaction alarmed Wendy. It was troubling seeing her grandmother in so much distress.

Wendy shooed the memory away to rub at her face tiredly. Giving Nancy an appreciative scratch behind his ears, the young blonde had made her way further into the house and towards the kitchen, finding the door to the basement unlocked and wide open with countless different smells coming from the room below. Wendy's soft footfalls creaked on the fifth step down like it always did, no matter how lightly she stepped. The basement was a well-lit decent sized room with the walls painted white and hardwood flooring. Shelving with books and other odds and ends lined the walls, along with a stove top in the far corner of the room which had something boiling in the massive pot that sat upon it. And at the centre of the room was a large island topped with a thick sheet of oak – which had a scattered assortment of things sprawled over it.

That was where Wendy found her grandmother. Anxiety filling up her entire being, making it difficult to breathe, like having a golf ball stuck in her throat. The feeling was over whelming – so Wendy pushed the emotion down forcefully, putting effort into reaching out with a wave of clam that washed over her grandmother; feeling sweat beginning to appear across her brow as she fought the urge to let her walls collapse and accidentally pry into Grams' mind after a too long day at the diner.

"Grams?" She had called softly, watching as the older woman straightened from her hunched over form; visibly more relaxed than before. "Is everythin' okay?"

Grams heaved a long sigh before turning to face her granddaughter, "No, honey. It's not." Eleanor's tired eyes regarded Wendy wearily as she tried to brush the wrinkles out of her blouse, but gave up after realising it was pointless. "Tha' killin's gettin' closer. Too close an' y' magical signature will be sniffed out . . . been tryin' t' find'ah spell or ah potion t' dampen it . . . even considered findin'ah talisman. Hex bag won't be strong enough."

Wendy wrung her fingers together; a nervous habit that even the hospital couldn't get out of her as she tried to not let her mind drift away from her grandmothers words. "We could make somethin' from scratch? Might be more powerful."

"We'll have t', it'll take time though." Eleanor puffed up her cheeks as she placed her hands upon her hips, and exhaled loudly. "I'm'ma make some calls – for ingredients."

Wendy didn't know how to comfort her grandmother without the use of her powers; her head felt too heavy to assist for too long and her walls were starting to melt-down into paste; letting in the thoughts and emotions of close by neighbours – whispering in her mind and shivering through her body. She just didn't know the right words to say to ease the stress that the older woman felt at that time. So Wendy offered her grandmother the only thing that could help – even if it were only a little bit, "Tea? Lavender perhaps. It'll clam y' down." She gave Eleanor a dreamy smile as the cracks in her walls began to show. "Then we can start brainstormin' together, idea's will start flashin' like lightenin'," She laughed breathily at her little joke, completely missing the look of heartbreaking concern on her grandmother's face. "an' we'll make some lists, I like makin' lists. Like makin' the bullet points evenly spaced as little stars." Wendy turned on her heel, humming a tune while doing so and left the older woman in the underground room, taking the calm that she just managed to project with her – leaving Eleanor to feel cold and alone in the too big room.

Wendy had noticed that after that night her grandmother had started to try and repress her emotions, kept the walls up around her mind so Wendy couldn't even grasp a stray thought. Perhaps her grandmother thought she was easing the strain on Wendy, but she couldn't ignore the fact that Eleanor's blocking was because she was scared. She had never seen her grandmother scared; angry, sad, happy – but never scared. And that in turn made Wendy terrified, began to make her jumpy more than usual; startling at small noises or a person suddenly speaking – even the drifting thoughts that managed to pierce her mind.

She had also taken it upon herself to listen in on the thoughts of her customers. It made her feel sick with guilt at the invasion of privacy she was using upon these unsuspecting citizens, but she felt it necessary. Wendy mostly tuned into the officers or the Sheriff, even the wandering drifters that were just passing through. Sometimes the drifters were what Grams called Hunters – people who track down and kill the dangerous creatures that lurked in the darkness of the world. Wendy kept away from them, they were a good information source, but no less dangerous – especially with the warnings her grandmother instilled into her when she was younger. There was an older gentleman a day ago that came through; a hunter whom was looking into the same murders that had Grams worried. He was flirting pretty heavily with Joyce and gave her the name Charles, when in reality it was Rufus. Wendy didn't tell Joyce that though; hunters often gave fake names, and Rufus wasn't looking to hurt anyone that wasn't hurting someone else.

"I'm thinkin' it's some weird cult shit." Marco cut into the conversation – bringing Wendy out of her own head as he came out from the kitchen with a tea towel draped over his shoulder, and his dark curls pulled back away from his face in a small bun that sat at the nape of his neck. He was dressed casually in a white shirt that showed the lower half of the Aztec-like tattoo that covered his left arm.

Daniel eyed Wendy with concern before turning his attention to his partner, "Awh yeah," Danny grinned, raising his brows at Marco. "An' whys that?"

"Well, the murders are all the same but in different parts of the country. A cult sounds better than just one person." Marco suggested as if that was the most logical answer. He tinkered around the coffee pot before pouring himself a mug and adding cream.

"Could just be'ah person catchin'ah plane." Danny countered with a smirk, knowing it would irritate his lover.

Marco scoffed, raising an eyebrow at Danny as he leaned over the counter top towards the blonde man. "Puh-lease, way too expensive."

"We won't know until they catch tha' person." Wendy chimed in before the debate could turn into an argument, feeling Marco step up to the challenge Danny presented before quickly fading due to Wendy's input.

Marco took a gulp of the bitter liquid, leaned away from Danny and pointed a finger at Wendy, "They didn't catch the Zodiac Killer."

"You're such'ah downer." Danny scolded which only had Marco flipping him off before trotting off into the office down the hall, Danny watching him go with hooded eyes attached to his dark jeaned bottom. "He watches way too many crime shows."

Wendy hummed happily as Danny's emotions filled her with warmth. "Ya' _looove_ him." She sang happily as she cleared her plate of food, standing from the stool and collecting her dishes to bring them to the kitchen for Jeffery.

She stepped out of the kitchen, letting the door swing close behind her as she grabbed her notepad from the counter to place it into her apron pocket, looking up at the sound of the chime the bell above the door made to see her Mr. Glowy. To say she was surprised was an understatement, it had been five days since she last saw him, and while Wendy was disappointed – she had shrugged it off thinking he was another drifter just passing through; someone who had caught her interest, but wouldn't be seen again.

Gabriel threw the blonde a grin before he swaggered off to the very same seat he occupied days ago. Her thick brows creased as she watched him with silver eyes. Wendy brought down her walls to reach out to read him, but was meant with something solid and difficult to penetrate, so she left it be. She was beside his table in a matter of seconds, looking down at his form silently – trying to pick up anything.

"Uh-uh," Gabriel wagged a finger at Wendy, giving her a knowing look. "You won't be getting in here unless I let ya', sunshine." He tapped his temple with his index finger and Wendy couldn't help but pout a little.

"I'm'ma little surprised t' see y' is all," she commented quietly, her eyebrows pulling together. Wendy was still trying to get any whiff of emotion off the man, but it was silent on his end. She sighed, "what can I get ya'?"

"When do you get off?" Gabriel countered, clasping his hands together as the door chimed once more – a woman entering, pulling off her hat to slap it against her thigh, muttering about something – and grinning when he noticed Wendy's eye twitch a little in irritation that wasn't her own.

"At lunch." She said briskly, gave her head a little shake to rid the hat slapping woman's agitation from her body; reinforcing the walls around her mind so it wouldn't happen again anytime soon.

"Great, we'll go for lunch."

"What if I'm busy?" Wendy retorted softly, but not unkindly; her head tilting slightly to the right, regarding him with those enchanting silver eyes he was so entranced by.

"Are you?" He cocked a brow at her.

"No."

"Then lunch it is," Gabriel declared as he jumped up from his seat, startling Wendy a little, watching while he basically bounced on the spot with his hands stuffed into his pockets. "I'll pick you up out front, sunshine." With that he was off and she wondered why he even sat down to begin with.

She felt Danny tiptoe up behind her munching on some jam covered toast, hearing the crunch as he bit into it, "Who'sthatguy?" He mumbled around the food.

"Gigi," Wendy answered, and slowly turned to face her friend – looking somewhat confused – as Danny shoved the remainder of the toast into his gob; crumbs scattered around his scruffy mouth. "I think he asked me on'ah date."

"Oooh, Weeeendeeee," Danny sang while watching his tiny blonde friend frown at him; feeling mischievous he quickly spun on his heel and marched off down the hall to the small office shouting, "Marco, guess what!"

Wendy had never been on a date before. Well, that was a lie. Wendy had never been on a good date before. Mainly because people either thought she was too weird to date or they thought she'd be an easy lay due to her weirdness – she didn't understand where anyone would get that from though; it didn't even sound logical to her. She remembered her first and only date, after graduating from high school she had accepted a date from Shaun Havald, it had gone well – he seemed nice enough though his thoughts were mainly focused on guessing her breast size; it was the end of the evening where he tried his luck at pulling over on the side of the road and got handsy (thoughts turning dark, dangerous), no matter how many times she said 'no'. Wendy had sent him to sleep and implanted the fear of sex into his mind, afterwards she made the twenty minute walk home by her lonesome in the dark; she hadn't felt alone though, so that was nice, but as soon as she walked into the old farmhouse she made a beeline for the shower and scrubbed at her skin as if Wendy had even the slightest chance to physically remove the feel of him from her person.

But she had avoided dating since then – a lot of people didn't have kind thoughts, so it made liking someone difficult especially when she'd catch snippets of their thoughts about how good her lips would look wrapped around their cock.

Wendy's shift passed quickly, the hours blurring together as the breakfast rush started at nine and didn't end until eleven. Wendy's feet were sore from standing for a long period of time, numbing a little at her shins, and her head ached from the walls she would let down to listen in for any information about the murders, and then building them back up again and again was making her sleepy. She wondered if she could just go home and sleep or try to at least, maybe Gabriel wouldn't be offended – but no, she wanted answers from the strange man, needed answers. Who was he, what was he? With anyone else it would be so simple to pluck the answers from their mind, but that wasn't possible in this situation because Gabriel was able to block her which has never happened before. Sure, Grams could block Wendy from her thoughts and emotions, but if Wendy pushed hard enough those walls would crumble under the weight of her power.

So Wendy stood in front of the diner, waiting patiently from Mr. Glowy to appear and answer her questions.

"Well, don't you look gorgeous," the Mystery Man himself cooed from beside her; like a mother to a newborn baby or when you see a puppy – like labradoodle puppies; they were just so curly and fun loving. Wendy faced him as his words swirled around her in a bright fluffy pink. "And you're wearing cowboy boots. That's so cute, with your little yellow dress and your little boots. You're just a ray of sunshine."

No one had ever paid that much attention to her clothing choices before – well aside from Grams, but that didn't count. Wendy was automatically filled with a tingling warmth that was all her own; no interference from anyone around her. And for the kind words he bestowed upon her, she gave him her best smile; the one that Pop used to say reminded him of Wendy's mother. Immediately Gabriel grinned, placing his hands into his pockets and cooed at her again. She could have sworn she heard him sigh out an, "aww babydoll." Wendy could feel her face burning; no doubt it was a bright red from his praise.

"Thank Ya'," Wendy gave him a dreamy smile as she took a step towards him, "it has pockets!" She placed her hands in said pockets as a demonstration. Gabriel gave a laugh then offered his arm and she accepted; placing her hand in the crook of it. "Where're we going?"

"There's a little Chinese restaurant two blocks away, thought we could go there?" Gabriel shrugged as he led her down the main street of the town that was bustling with the townspeople. Wendy noticed a few people eye the two of them – thoughts like _never seen him 'round here before_ or _Heard tha' Dawson girl escaped ah mental hospital_ slithered threw a gap in her shield.

The walk was short and silent. Not that awkward quiet and everything else is loud silent. It was a comfortable silence, and Wendy tended to be a quiet person – she was quite content to be in the company of someone and not ruin the moment with words. Sooner rather than later they were both out the front of the tiny restaurant that Ms. Jones owned. Ms. Jones wasn't a particularly nice person, she was angry all the time and was rude to anyone she came into contact with, but her food was incredible – Wendy knew she was a lonely woman whom had been through three divorces and didn't have the children she so desperately wished for; it was why she was so angry, she was stuck in the mindset of 'if I can't be happy, you can't be happy' – so whenever Wendy had the opportunity to eat out she would come here and compliment Ms. Jones' food; send her little swirls of joy and making her feel relaxed even if it was just for a little while.

Besides, Wendy liked Ms. Jones; liked her brashness and how she refused to filter what she said. Wendy fond it refreshing as St. Francisville was filled with people who were sugar sweet to your face, but said awful things behind your back. But Ms. Jones wasn't from the south, didn't have those mannerisms ingrained into her, so she told you like it was; didn't like to sugar coat her words or beat around the bush – and so Wendy looked up to the older woman a little for not breaking under the pressure of the small towns social rules.

Gabriel opened the door for the young blonde woman with a dramatic sweeping gesture of his arm, sending Wendy a flirty wink as she entered the restaurant. Today she would find out why he was so familiar, wouldn't let him dance around it like their last conversation; she wanted answers and she was determined to get them.

No matter how vexing she had to be.


	3. Ode To Sleep

**Chapter Three**

_"The scientists of today think deeply instead of clearly. One must be sane to think clearly, but one can think deeply and be quite insane."_   
_-Nikola Tesla_

* * *

**Chapter Quote: "Wow . . ."**

* * *

****  
** SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO **

"We need to do something, Malcolm!" Katherine stressed as she stood before her husband, arms folded tightly across her chest and looking down at the dining table where Malcolm Dawson's hunched over form was sat with his head cradled in his hands. "She's not sleeping," Kathy continued on in a harsh whisper, brushing her dark corkscrew curls from her face in annoyance as they fell into her eyes once again; she was kicking herself for cutting it so short. "Telling me that the voices in her head are keeping her up. It's not normal – she told me that Ryan Hiddstien likes to touch his daughter. Wendolyn is five years old, Malcolm! She shouldn't know about any of that—that stuff!"

It was creepy in all honesty. Creepy how Wendy knew things she shouldn't. Creepy how she told Kathy that people glowed – most were blue, some purple, other's black, and on rare occasions a white gold. Creepy how Kathy would wake in the middle of the and find her step-daughter wandering around the house in the dark humming whatever little tune that struck her fancy at the dead of night. Creepy how Wendy told her that voices whispered to her at all times, that they were hard to ignore; telling her secrets that Wendy tended to blurt out loud. Kathy had seen plenty of horror movies, and it took everything in her whenever she found Wendy roaming not to start reciting from the bible or pegging the book at the child. It was hard because Kathy loved that girl like she was her own, but by the Lord did Wendy scare the shit out of her at times.

"What do'ya want me t' do, Kathy?" Malcolm fired back, running a hand through his short blonde hair before lifting his head up to glare at his second wife. He was just as worried as she was, couldn't understand where his little girl was getting all this information from about their neighbours and friends; and to find out that some of it was true merely three hours beforehand with two police officers coming to their door to question his child about Ryan Hiddstien (and to see if he had harmed Wendy in any way) was terrifying to Malcolm; especially when his five year old went into great detail about how much the disturbed man liked to think about doing those things to a child – how often he did it. How Lily would cry afterwards, how her friend didn't like it – was scared and confused.

"I don't know," Kathy replied while pulling out the dining chair and sat down with a heavy sigh, resting her hand upon Malcolm's. They were both in shock, Ryan had been a friend – Wendy had stayed with them every so often and Kathy would continually shiver violently, stomach rolling whenever she thought about how much time Wendy spent with the man and his family; thinking about how it could of easily have been her step-daughter. "I just know she needs help . . . she's dead on her feet, honey."

"I know," Malcolm rubbed at his face tiredly then turned his gaze to Kathy, steel blue eyes meeting chocolate brown. "Maybe I can find one of those kid shrinks or somethin'."

"Can I hav'ah yohgurt?" Wendy's tiny voice startled the both of them. They both turned to find the small girl in the doorway holding the nasty looking orange cat that was too big to be held; it had a sour look on its face as if it were silently judging the married couple while a rumbling purr escaped his furry form once Wendy scratched his face. Why they allowed the stray to stay was beyond Kathy, but Wendy had been very convincing and had too easily persuaded her parents into letting her keep it.

"Of course you can, baby." Kathy smiled and stood from her seat.

They needed to get help. Kathy needed to get Wendy help, because doing nothing wasn't the solution.

* * *

Wendy sat across from Gabriel, hands folded neatly on the table as she watched him take a pull on the straw of the chocolate milkshake he had just ordered, her own strawberry one sitting untouched in front of her. Lunch had gone well, at least that was her opinion on it, aside from the fact that Gabriel was outright ignoring her attempts to pry information out of him; smoothly shifting the conversation in a completely different direction without her noticing for a time. She was being polite about her prying too, not once did she attempt to brush her skin against his own to try and establish a link, not that she would do that – she'd feel too guilty if she did; would probably apologise repeatedly for doing it, she felt like apologising now for even contemplating it.

"What's on your mind, sunshine?" Gabriel broke the silence between the two with his question, raising a brow as he took a long slurp from the straw. Wendy couldn't help but narrow her silver eyes at the being before her. She was certain that he knew what was on her mind.

Wendy let her irritation go as she finally sipped at her own strawberry milkshake. She flicked her eyes up and met Gabriel's gaze head on. "I've seen other's glow like you do, not'ah lot – just'ah few." She stated softly, keeping her eyes locked on his, refusing to let him go. When she didn't get a response from him (not that she thought she would), Wendy wanted to keep pestering him; like a pesky tiny fly, buzzing around near his ears – the annoying hum gradually grating on his nerves until he told her what she wanted to know.

Her mind took hold of the idea and began to wander off, twisting and twirling about Mr. Glowy and what he could possibly be. Perhaps he was a faerie, did faeries even glow? Wendy had never had the privilege of meeting one – maybe if she were to seek one out she could question it about Gabriel, but then that seemed a little shady to go behind his back like that. A thought suddenly flashed into her mind, like lightening striking her brain, she vaguely wondered if a light bulb appeared above her head and if Gabriel had noticed such a thing (a quick glance up only showed her that he was firmly invested in his milkshake) – but the thought! What was it again? It had strolled away in her musings, no, wait, there it was; could Gabriel hurt her and could she hurt him if it came to that? It was a logical thing to wonder about, so logical that Wendy didn't know why she hadn't thought about it before. But first she'd have to figure out what he was; from there it would be rather simple to find out what could harm him – not that she would want to.

Wendy blinked and her eyes became focused again, fixating again on Gabriel who watched her almost attentively, "Would it hurt if I hit ya'?"

Gabriel gave a surprised little chuckle, lips stretching as he regarded her with what she thought were fond eyes. "Questions, questions," but Gabriel didn't look annoyed, just amused, like he was waiting for her to straight up and ask him bluntly instead of tip toeing around it like she was earlier. "Nope, probably not the best idea though."

Wendy's head titled to right just a little, "Why?" She inquired, blinking owlishly. "Y' gonna' hit me back?" The blonde gave him a once over, raking her eyes up and down his form. He didn't look like he could be dangerous or frightening, though there was something there, lingering just below the surface remaining doormat, that felt dangerous; powerful – and when pushed would undoubtedly show itself. Wendy could see it in the way he moved, the way he held himself, he tried to cover it with flirting and jokes, but it was still there. "Have y' ever, y'know . . . _killed_ anyone?"

Gabriel threw his head back as he outright laughed. He chortled for a good minute, and when he recovered he only grinned at Wendy, a glint in his eye – and Wendy had her answer; yes he had and no, she still wasn't scared. Gabriel's straw made that little chocking noise that informed him that the milkshake-y goodness was gone, he frowned down at the tall glass and then took a peek at her own; he pulled Wendy's milkshake towards himself and took a long pull from the straw, making Wendy purse her lips in mild annoyance with furrowed eyebrows.

"Listen sunshine," he slid the half full glass back in front of her. "I'm only here to check up on ya'."

Wendy immediately frowned at his words. "I . . ." She trailed off, not really knowing what to say. Why on earth would this unknown ever need to check up on her? "I don't understand."

Gabriel eyed the blonde for a few seconds, his eyes becoming squinty as if he were assessing her. His eyebrows rose after a moment as he finally came to some sort of conclusion. "Wow . . ." He dragged the word out and left it hanging in the air for a bit while sucking on his molar; looking mildly annoyed. "You really don't remember do'ya? Thought it might've clicked once the whole 'Gigi' thing came up. Unless witchy granny decided to go extreme . . ." He trailed off, muttering the last part.

"I still don't—"

"You and I, we _know_ each other." Gabriel cut in querulously, leaning forward on the table and Wendy felt the need to do the same; drawn to him once again, like a moth to a flame. The air around them suddenly becoming tense and serious, making Wendy's skin prickle at the energy that shimmered and shivered around the both of them. "Think about it, how much do you remember from the loony-bin they _dumped_ you in?"

Wendy sucked in a sharp breath, trying to swallow around the lump that formed in her throat. That was something she didn't want to think of, but it was something he couldn't possibly know either – unless they did know each other. Her palms began to sweat as panic started to set in. She barely remembered the hospital, she knew she didn't like it, knew that whatever memories she did have she didn't like thinking about them. Knew that the smell of antiseptic conjured up memories she wanted to forget, knew needles terrified her, and doctor's made her uncomfortable. But mostly that time was blank; those days were mainly black holes of history she couldn't recall – Grams wouldn't do that, not unless something bad happened. Did something bad happen? Now that was all Wendy could thank about, what was so bad that Grams had to plant walls up inside her mind to keep her from remembering? She didn't think she wanted to know.

A large warm hand encased her small boned one and squeezed. Anxious silver eyes met concerned gold.

"We met at tha' hospital." Wendy spoke quietly, a crease forming between thick brows. It wasn't a question, a statement because it was obvious, but she felt the need to have it said aloud.

Gabriel pulled a face, making a see-saw motion with his other hand and shrugged. "Semantics."

"Why would Gra—"

"Don't freak out about it, granny met well, just didn't think she'd do such a thorough job, y'know?" No, she didn't know. Gabriel frowned and chewed at his bottom lip. "They locked you up and threw away the key, seeing me and my fantastic self wasn't doing you any favours. I guess she just got rid of me altogether."

"Okay, but y' were there? Why?"

"I don't think I'm the right guy who should be answering your questions."

"Ya' definitely are tha' right guy t' be answerin' my questions." Wendy commented, disliking his evasion. "Why were y' there?"

"Because we _know_ each other."

"That doesn' tell me anythin'."

"I know."

Wendy huffed. Fine, he didn't have to tell her. She would ask Grams, surely she would confess to the memory block she placed upon Wendy's mind, not that Grams could really get away with lying to her anyway. Besides, Wendy wasn't a child anymore; granted she didn't want to remember anything horrible – just wanted to know why Grams saw such an extreme as necessary. Because it was extreme, to go into someone's mind and pick and pull at the pieces you wanted there and the ones you wanted to be locked away; Wendy saw it as a violation.

"What are ya?" Wendy suddenly questioned instead, wanting to turn away from her thoughts.

"Rude," Gabriel commented on her inquiry in an exasperated tone and a roll of his eyes. "You're smart, _you_ figure it out."

"Well, how am I supposed t' do that when y' haven't given any clues?" Wendy shot back at him, irritated by his glibness.

Gabriel raised his brow, "You didn't _need_ clues before." He responded snottily, seeming more annoyed by the fact that he had been wiped from her memory then he had let on before. The man across from her resembled a sulking child in that moment, glaring at the tall glass in front of his person with a tiny pout of his face.

Wendy forced herself not to smile at his display.

Then she remembered. Burnt gold wings ruffle slightly before settling.

"Ya' wings."

Her statement silenced the air between them, and seriousness crept back onto Gabriel's face. He said they were real, she remembered – that's what he said, she heard it. Wendy was expecting him to deny having wings, ready to have him call her crazy for even suggesting such a thing; to tell her it was all in her head – her mind playing tricks again, but she remembered, remembered that he said they were real. But her shoulders tensed anyway, prepared to have Gabriel cut her with sharp words by a silver tongue.

Gabriel ran his tongue along the top row of teeth, "Yep," he said popping the 'P'.

"Are y' fae?" Wendy rushed the question, leaning back towards Gabriel, hands lying flat on top of the small table. She could see him strutting along freely in a meadow with those wings of his trailing him, the sun shining down; making his hair glow in the sunlight with a flower crown placed upon his head. She liked that image and now wanted to go to the florist and buy a bunch of flowers to weave together for him. Perhaps some daises and lavender, magnolias were nice too.

"What?" Gabriel scoffed, his voice bringing her back to the present and she watched his nose wrinkle up like he smelt something bad, while his mouth pulled down into a frown. "I'm a little insulted."

"Oh." Her flower crown day dreams were dashed.

Maybe.

"Guess again, sunshine." Gabriel prompted her, grinning boyishly. "I've got plenty of time."

* * *

** FIFTEEN YEARS AGO **

It was dark, which was understandable because it's always dark at night, especially when you don't turn on the lights; but Wendy didn't want to wake her parents so she kept them off. She should be sleeping, but she couldn't sleep – she had pills to help, but they didn't help. Nothing helped the voices or the feelings – they weren't hers! She wanted them to go away; she wanted everyone around her to keep them locked away inside themselves!

But they didn't, so she stayed awake. It wasn't so bad she supposed – it was quieter at night, because the majority of people were sleeping, so there was some peace for her.

Wendy was currently in the nursery watching baby Miranda sleep. Miranda was still little and couldn't play yet, but Wendy was content with just patiently waiting for her sister to grow up. Wendy thought Miranda was the prettiest little person she had ever seen; she had the same mocha skin tone as Kathy and the same curly hair, but she had her daddy's eyes – Kathy said that they would most likely get darker, but that was okay because Miranda would be just as pretty.

The small blonde girl liked to watch her sister sleep, liked to hold her hand and watch her sisters dreams dance in her mind. Miranda mostly dreamed in colours – faces would pop in every now again, sometimes objects, but mostly colour. It was pretty and calming, and Wendy felt that way until she didn't – because now there was something there that shouldn't be there.

Wendy blinked her eyes, coming out of the haze of the dream and let go of the six month old's hand. Something was wrong, it didn't feel right. It felt dark, and cold, and scary; but Wendy had never been frightened of the dark. There was something there, in the room, Wendy didn't like it – wanted it to leave. She turned away from the cot her sister slept in, her silver gaze meeting an eerie yellow. It was a man, and he grinned at her. He was a man shrouded in black; too dark that it shadowed his features, consumed his very being.

"Y'not allowed t' be in here." Wendy told the man, standing in front of her tiny sister, keeping her voice down so she didn't wake the baby. He felt twisted and pulled, wrong – so very, very wrong; made her skin crawl standing so close to him.

"That's right, but I've got business to attend to." His voice was raspy, attempting to be kind, but he was no such thing. The man was annoyed, Wendy could tell, she could always tell. "You best get to bed."

"No." Wendy lifted her chin just a little in defiance; she wouldn't leave. He was scary, and wicked – and dark. "Go away."

The man took a step closer and crouched down to her level, his alarmingly yellow eyes narrowed; lips pulled back in a snarl. "You listen to me you little brat, you go back to bed or I'll slice mummy and daddy up _real_ good." He gave her a menacing grin after finishing his threat.

The little girl didn't like that – that was naughty. He was naughty, naughty like Lily's daddy. She could feel it, she could hear it – his voice echoing in her mind about how much he would enjoy tearing her annoying self apart. And she knew he would do it, could see how he would do it. To have Kathy lie above Miranda and burst into flames – skin melting and burning as she screamed silently; face twisted in agony. How he would adore causing her family pain – silently pleading for Wendy to ignore him, to continue to defy him; to give him a reason to sink the blade he held in his hand deep into her belly and twist. Wendy decided he was bad. A bad man, who had come to give Randie something. Wendy didn't know what he wanted to give her little sister, but knew that it wasn't anything good.

Wendy leveled her gaze at the man unblinkingly and made him crumple to the ground, his knees thudding against the carpeted floor as he withered in the pain she created; the pain she bestowed upon him, watching him thrash violently on the carpet and gurgling on saliva. Veins straining and rising under the skin of his neck as his back arched uncomfortably on the ground.

"Go away an' don't come back. _Ever_." Her command resonated inside his mind, burrowing deep and planting itself there, and then she watched him vanish in a blink. Gone without a trace.

The door swiftly opened and Kathy stopped short at the sight of Wendy standing in front of the cot. "Wendy, baby." Kathy eyed the little girl. "What are you doing in here? What are you doing up?"

"I was watchin' Randie sleep." Wendy replied easily, quietly as to not wake her sister. "I told tha' man t' go away."

"Man, what man?" Kathy gasped and stumbled into the room, grasping Wendy's shoulders checking her over for any injuries. "Are you okay?"

"He wanted t' hurt me, hurt you an' daddy." Wendy informed her. "But I made him leave, he won't be back."

"Are you sure you saw a man?" Kathy questioned the little girl sceptically. "Maybe you were sleep walking?"

"I wasn't sleepin'."

Kathy swallowed hard, looked around the room before her eyes fell back onto her step-daughter. "Honey, stay with your sister, I'm gonna' wake up daddy."  
  


** FIVE MONTHS LATER **

"So Wendy, you saw a man in your sister's room?" The lady doctor, who insisted that Wendy call her Sara asked her as soon as her daddy left the room and they settled on the floor of the office colouring with a pack of crayons upon the coffee table. Wendy had decided on drawing her house with herself and her daddy, and Kathy, and Randie – and Nancy too! It was a bright drawing, each one of the figures surrounded in blues, except for Nancy because his was a blue green and Wendy because she purple.

"Mhmm," Wendy hummed her reply as she finished up the final touches of Kathy's curly hair, tongue poking out of the side of her lips in concentration.

"And what did this man want?" Sara asked as she pushed her bright purple cat eye glasses further up her nose, giving Wendy a kind smile when the girl looked up from her drawing. Wendy liked her glasses, wanted a pair of her own also, but Wendy wanted them to be pink and sparkly – so sparkly you could see them from space; have the astronauts think there was a star on earth.

"He wanted t' give somethin' t' Randie, then he wanted t' hurt Kathy." Wendy stated it like it was obvious. "I like y' glasses, do'ya think daddy would let me have glasses?"

Sara looked startled for a moment, eyes widening before she cleared her throat; startled because the little girl hadn't opened up to any of her previous psychologists like this. In fact Wendy had only started seeing this woman for three weeks. "If you couldn't see properly without them, I'm sure he would." Sara paused for a moment, watching the little girl nod thoughtfully then went back to colouring. "Why would this man hurt Kathy?"

"Because he could." Wendy gazed back at the woman, making Sara shift in discomfort. The little girl broke the eye contact, feeling a little bad for making the woman feel uncomfortable.

Sara cleared at throat again, "And what did this man want to do to Kathy?"

Wendy didn't answer for a while, content to start another picture, this one consisting mainly of black with just a hint of yellow. Wendy didn't want to answer, she knew that it would alarm Sara a little, but she had promised her daddy that she would cooperate with the lady. And Sara was nice, she made Wendy feel calm because Sara was quieter than most people, her words weren't slimy like the other doctors. After twenty minutes of silence, Sara didn't expect a reply – thought she had pushed the subject enough for one day.

"He wanted t' burn her." Wendy stated blankly as she looked up from her drawing. "On tha' ceilin'. It was gonna' be bright, an' hot. Like'ah oven." Sara waited patiently for Wendy to finish her somewhat rambling answer. "But I made him go away. I didn't like 'im."

The session ended shortly after that and Wendy was made to play in the quiet corner of the office while her daddy and Kathy spoke with the Doctor Sara. Wendy wasn't bothered about that, she liked the toys that had been provided for her, little hotwheels cars in various different colours and some plastic horses was enough to help her imagination start flowing.

"This is only my sixth session with your daughter, but she has gone through five other psychologists within five months, that's a warning sign, Mr. Dawson." Sara spoke firmly, but quietly enough as to not disturb the girl whom happily made car noises as she moved a tiny truck around a horse.

"I'm sorry?" Kathy spoke up, frowning at the woman who sat behind her big oak desk. "'Warning sign'? What the hell does that mean?"

"Wendy isn't stable. Her previous doctors mention this again and again. Yet they did nothing, probably couldn't figure out how to help your daughter so passed her off." Sara tried to explain, irritated with the couple in front of her. "She sees things, hears things. She has a very vivid imagination, too vivid I fear – she doesn't seem to know what's real and what's not. In previous sessions and the one today we've discussed the man inside your other daughters' room; a man with yellow eyes, a man, who once told to leave just disappeared from sight."

"But, what about knowin' thangs about people?" This time it was her daddy that spoke, clutching onto Kathy's hand like a life line.

"Wendy is observant, unusually so for a child, but not unheard of. The conclusion I've come to is that she observes something happening that not many others would notice, and her voices fill in the blanks." Sara sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "Looking over her documents and notes from her previous psychologist's and interacting with her these last few weeks . . . I'm sorry, but I believe your daughter is a sufferer of very early-onset schizophrenia."

"What? No." Malcolm all but demanded, leg bouncing up and down on the fall; ready to jump up at a moments notice and football carry his daughter out of the office. "How can y' be sure?"

"I know it's a lot to take in Mr. Dawson, but the symptoms are clear. I'm having a hard time understanding why your previous doctors didn't tell you." Sara mumbled, she was uncomfortable and didn't like giving bad news. Sara didn't like seeing children struggle when they shouldn't have to. "I believe your daughter is suffering specifically from hallucinations – these usually involve seeing or hearing things that don't exist. Yet for your daughter they are as real as you and I. I've caught her on more than one occasion telling the voices to be quiet."

"Okay . . . then, then what do we do?" Kathy questioned with a shaky voice, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue the doctor handed her. Is it safe for her to be around Miranda? Kathy immediately shut the thought down, guilt drowning her and weighing in the pit of her stomach. Wendy wouldn't do anything to hurt her baby sister.

"I'm going to refer you admission to Brentwood Hospital. I know Doctor Larsher and he'll help your daughter in any way he can." Sara gave the couple an encouraging smile as she began to type up the referral to send to the hospital.

"I don't want t' put my kid in tha' crazy house." Malcolm growled, agitated beyond belief. Daddy wasn't happy with the doctor, Wendy didn't understand why though; she was telling him what she believed to be the truth. But Wendy didn't understand half the stuff they were talking about; talking like what she could do was bad. Maybe it was though, she didn't like the voices most times, and people's colours and words sometimes glowed too brightly. She knew people didn't like it when she told a secret she wasn't supposed to know – maybe it was bad.

"I know it seems that way Mr. Dawson, but it is imperative we get to the bottom of this." Doctor Sara clarified, pushing her glasses up once more. "They can run tests, and if I'm correct – help you find the right medication for your daughter to help with her hallucinations."

* * *

"Y'know Gigi." Wendy strode into the kitchen and snatched the kettle from the stove, filled it with water and lit it once it was back in its rightful place. Her voice held no emotion, just detachment, a true tell of her anger that rolled off her person in crashing waves as she tried not to project her emotions onto her grandmother.

Gabriel had dropped her off out the front of the old farmhouse in a sky blue 1965 Coupe DeVille Cadillac that he seemed overly attached to. He didn't say much, probably realising she was mad – and she was. Thinking it over in the silence of the car on the way back home gave her time to build her anger. Gabriel was someone she knew from before, someone who cared enough about her well being to check in on her every now and again, and her grandmother took that relationship from her by taking her memories. Wendy relented that Eleanor may have had her reasons, but it still stung.

Eleanor sighed heavily, took the reading glasses off of her nose to rub at her right temple. "Yes." It was all she said before she closed the old dusty book she was reading.

"I told y'bout him an' y' said nothin'." Wendy grabbed a yellow mug from the top cabinet and began making herself her usual peppermint tea, her hands shaking slightly in her aggravated state.

"I know."

"Ya' put ah block on my mind."

"I know." Grams pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Ya' took away my memories."

"I _know_!" Grams snapped and threw her glass down on the small kitchen table.

"I know y'know." Wendy spoke quietly, tensely. "Ya' did it without permission, four years of my life are missin' because y' took them."

"I did what I thought was best, Wendolyn!" Grams hissed standing from her seat and whirling around to face her granddaughter. "Y' were so young, an' t' have those memories – those thoughts, an' feelin's around y' all tha' time . . . those memories were gonna' _kill_ ya'."

Wendy closed her eyes tightly. Perhaps Grams was right about that. What memories she did keep weren't pleasant, they still surfaced in her mind on the days her walls were weak and she couldn't focus on keeping them down and everyone else out. She breathed in deeply, before exhaling.

"Were y' gonna' tell me?" Wendy questioned softly as she opened her eyes at the sound of the kettle whistling, taking it off the heat to make her tea.

"Of course I was." Grams sighed and rubbed at her forehead. The older woman couldn't believe how quickly time flew. She always thought that she would be more prepared for when the truth came out (of course she also thought that she would be the one to tell Wendy). Always thought she would know the right words to say to her granddaughter. But she didn't, she never had a clue. "Would y' like me t' tell you now?"

"No," Wendy shook her head, dark blonde curls falling messily down her back. She felt too tired and drained for the discussion any more. Wendy only wanted to sleep now, sleep off her anger and come back to the topic at a later time. They had more important things to worry about then her silly memories; it could wait. "Not yet . . . not any time soon."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell y'," Grams placed a small wrinkled hand on her shoulder, Wendy noticed the finely woven bracelet around her grandmother's wrist with a strange pendant she had never seen before. "But I'm not sorry I did it."


End file.
